


A Precautionary Tale

by tresa_cho



Category: Doom (2005), Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Guns, Kink Meme, M/M, Zombies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-03
Updated: 2011-08-03
Packaged: 2017-10-22 04:46:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/233916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tresa_cho/pseuds/tresa_cho
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Leonard H McCoy never joined Starfleet, but when he hears a ship is about to re-open Olduvai, he is forced into action.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally filled here: http://community.livejournal.com/st_xi_kink_meme/2654.html?thread=1813854#t1813854

He quietly checked the magazine in his gun once more, knowing that if it jammed it wouldn't just be his life. It'd be the lives of every single government officer aboard that damn ship. The ship bounced, a micrometeorite glancing off it in the darkness of space. John scowled, shoving the magazine back into the gun with more force than warranted. At least it wasn't a transporter beam.

"We're almost within range, doc," the voice from the cockpit called. John grunted his acknowledgement. He had blown nearly all his savings on this little excursion. If he was lucky, he could haggle the brass into giving it back once he saved the collective ass of an entire Federation ship. "We're here."

John stood, strapping the gun to his side. Frequency weapons would be useless for what the Federation officers would find on Olduvai, but he couldn't fit any more guns on his person. He was lucky he could get these three up and running again after so many years.

He stalked to the transporter pad and stood on it, viciously slamming down the familiar nausea that rose in his gut. "Three, two, one-" the pilot counted down, and John felt the hot brush of light as the transporter activated.

The transporter beam set him down directly upon the site of the old Ark landing pad. He noted with grim (haha!) satisfaction that his grenade had at least caused some damage. Most likely nothing permanent, though, if Sarge had fully mutated before the explosive went off. John kicked at a scratch of metal, nudging it aside with a combat boot as he stepped off the pad and into the stage that had haunted his sleeping hours for the last two hundred years.

It didn't look as if anyone had touched down yet. The halls were silent as John crept through them, gun up, eyes staring through the sights as he moved. His careful, measured breathing made no sound as he moved. It was absolutely necessary for him to hear, because Sarge had been roaming freely over the facility for the last two hundred years. John's sight and agility would not help him here.

The pang of resonating laughter startled John so badly he choked on his breath, whirling to pin the gun on an open doorway. He lowered the sights and stormed through the door. They had given away their position; no use in being silent any longer. Now it was just a matter of time.

He burst through the door and the laughter cut off. "Who are you?" A man- no, kid- in command gold eyed him. "We were told this base was unoccupied."

"Oh, it's occupied, all right," John drawled, irritation making his southern lilt appear in full force. "Occupied by a whole lotta ugly that is coming straight for us. I suggest you get the fuck out of here."

"Sir, we're here on a reconnaissance mission for Starfleet. I don't know who you are, or where you came from, but I can assure you that we've done our research on this facility," the kid said firmly, holding up a calming hand, palm to John. Something pinged against metal, very far down the hall, almost indiscernible except to John's ears. His heart quickened.

"In approximately fifty seconds, you all are going to be lunch meat," John growled. "I can't protect you all. You have to get out of this facility yesterday."

"If you will excuse me saying, sir," one in Science blues, with pointed ears and a sharp bowl-cut, "We are highly trained Starfleet officers qualified to handle first contact scenarios. I am confident that with enough information, we can appropriately handle whatever threat you believe is upon us."

John didn't have time to counter the point. He knew by the looks on the officers' faces and the sudden change in temperature at his back that they had been found. Pain exploded in his side as he was knocked through the doorway, sent skidding along the floor into the former laboratory. He could hear phaser blasts sizzling the air above him. Breathing harshly through the pain of what had to be multiple cracked ribs, he jerked one of his shotguns into both hands and fired.

The sound of the gun going off seemed to startle the officers more than the giant mutant that had pounded through the door. They all recoiled, scrambling out of the way of the monster charging into the room, drawn by the sense-memory of the noise. John forced himself to his feet, slamming his back against a table as he continued to fire, stuffing enough lead into the creature to halt its progress. It collapsed on the floor in a messy, bloody heap, its life gurgling onto the floor.

John groaned, pain lancing through him as his ribs knitted themselves back together. His legs gave out, but the kid in command gold caught him, helping ease him to the floor. "Easy, there. M'Benga! Quick!" the kid snapped.

John shoved him away. "Just gimme a sec, kid," he ground out, one hand clenching fiercely at the kid's shoulder. His ribs popped as one snapped back into place, and he let out a shaky breath, pain lessening almost instantly. "Fuck," he hissed, letting his head fall back against the table. The kid stared at him in disbelief.

"Was that... your rib?" he asked, gaping. "Did your bone just pop back into place?"

"Close your mouth, kid, you're gonna get infected," John mumbled, pushing himself to his feet. His new ribs hummed, enjoying the stretch, as he toed the creature he had gunned down. His blood froze in his body. That wasn't Sarge.

Instantly, the gun was back in his hands, aimed at the doorway. "We're gonna move in formation back to the Ark. I'll take point, here." He shoved a gun into the pointy-eared bastard's hand. "You're Vulcan, right? Extra strength? Cover our six. You're the only one who's gonna stand a chance against what's out there."

"I am unsure how to utilise this weapon," the Vulcan intoned. John heaved out an impatient breath. They didn't have time for this.

"I got it, Spock," the kid said, reaching for the grip. 'Spock' handed it over without hesitation. John watched as the kid cocked it, inspected the magazine, and fitted it to his shoulder snugly, as if he had practised with it his entire life. Face deadly serious, he turned to John. "Let's go."

"Oh hell no," John said, shaking his head. "You'll get snapped in half, kid."

"I am the captain of the starship Enterprise," the kid said, voice low and dangerous. "Do not presume to tell me what to do when the safety of my crew is in jeopardy. Are you going to lead the way or am I taking point?" John swallowed his protests. If the kid wanted to get himself killed, let him.

John swung around, throwing his shoulder against the doorway to rotate his gun into the hall. He saw nothing, heard nothing but the shuddering breaths of the group behind him. They were still too loud.

He pushed into the hall, creeping with steady purpose back towards the Ark and hopefully freedom. "Stay away from the floor grates," he murmured sub-vocally as his feet skirted one in the centre of the hall. There was something different here. Something that hadn't been there the last time he'd crawled through Olduvai. Something that made his hair stand on end.

The Ark room was blissfully silent and unmoving. Nothing jerked out of the shadows at them, as an Asian officer and a Russian kid stepped onto the pad to be beamed out. The kid stood beside John as he watched his team, two by two, get beamed up.

"Send a message to Starfleet," the kid said to Spock before the science officer stepped onto the pad. "Tell them what the hell's going on here. Do not send another team down. If I'm not back in two hours, blow this place off the planet. Got it?"

"Understood, captain," Spock said with a quirk of his eyebrow.

"You have the conn, Mr Spock," the kid said with a smirk. Spock nodded as the transporter beam engulfed him and a saucy communications officer who looked like she could eviscerate John with a glare.

"And just what do you think you're doing?" John asked roughly when they were alone.

"Coming with you," the kid said, as if it were obvious. "You weren't beaming up with us, were you?"

"You're sharp," John muttered. "But you have no idea what's out there."

"I'm pretty sure I saw what was out there," the kid said with a wry smile. "You shot it dead at my feet."

"That was one of the babies," John grumbled, hefting his gun to his shoulder again, turning from the platform.

"You gonna tell me how you got up here? Or who you are?" the kid asked, following him.

"All I'm gonna tell you is when we leave this room you have to be utterly silent or we're both dead," John grunted, eyes scanning the hall outside the Ark.

"Okay, Bones," the kid said under his breath. "Name's Jim Kirk. I do still have a mission to complete, just so you are aware." John shuddered. He'd heard that one before. Still, he ignored the kid, tucked his gun into his shoulder, and stepped into the hall. The last time he had been here, he and his unit had crawled through the entire science wing of the site. That only left the geological dig. Where Sam had found Lucy. Where the accident had happened...

He rounded a corner and something smashed into his face, sending him to the ground. He heard two shots fire over him, and something dropped to the floor with a wet squelch. He pushed himself up, wiping blood from his face. Jim crouched beside him. "You all right?" he asked, voice hushed. John eyed the unmoving body of the creature, and levelled a hand gun at it. He shot the creature's chest.

"Once through the head, once through the heart," he said woodenly. Jim nodded, eyes sharp on John's face. "McCoy. Leonard McCoy," John said grudgingly, handing out his present name. Jim smiled tightly. "Why is Starfleet here?" John asked.

"They want to reopen the base," Jim said without hesitation, his eyes scanning the corridor around them for movement. John almost swallowed his tongue. "They want the data, and they want to investigate the dig site, find out which alien race was here in Earth's history."

"Like hell they're getting their hands on this base," John snarled. Jim nodded.

"I understand your concern, McCoy, but the Federation must have a good reason to want to check this place out now, after all these years." Jim's eyes darted somewhere behind John, and he lifted the gun. John turned, mirroring the motion as they pressed forward. Something flashed out of the corner of his eye.

"Down!" John shoved Jim to the ground as a slug flew through the air, smacking into the wall with a horrifying shriek of discontent at missing its target.

The creature that had jettisoned the slug was in the air, pouncing to attack the Starfleet captain. John launched himself without hesitation, wrapping his body around Jim's and rolled, feeling claws dig into his back, slicing through his tac vest with ease. The creature overshot them, skidding on blood-slick metal as it reared for another attack. John shoved Jim under him, away from the oncoming violence, and fired wildly at the creature. His arm shook too much to get a decent hit, and the creature swiped the gun from his tingling hand.

An arm wrapped around his chest, pulling him flush against someone's body. The screaming pain almost blotted out the sound of a pistol firing right beside his ear. But the creature dropped, and John's head was still attached, so it had to be a win even if he couldn't feel anything from his neck down.

"Jesus Christ," Jim breathed anxiously against his ear. John could feel his blood sliding down his back, getting soaked up by Jim's shirt as he was lowered to the ground. "Hang on, Bones, hang on." The shirt at his back fell away, exposing tender skin to cool air. John hissed, fingers scrabbling at the ground to distract him from the pain. "Oh my god," he heard Jim gasp over him. Warm hands ran over freshly healed skin, smearing blood in their path. Jim grasped his shoulder and turned him viciously. "What are you?" he asked sharply. John panted, trying to catch his breath. Jim shook him hard. "Answer me!" he ground out.

"I'm human," John burst out.

"No human heals that quickly," Jim snapped. "Try again." John felt the cold press of his own pistol to his forehead. "Once through the head, right?" John closed his eyes. "Are you one of them?"

"Yes and no," John finally sighed. This was ridiculous. Spilling his story on the floor of Olduvai with a mutated carcass sprawled across his legs and his own nine mil digging into his forehead. "The mutation is a result of the addition of a synthetic chromosome to a human system. I had a good reaction. That sorry bastard had a bad one."

Jim narrowed his eyes. "Exactly how old are you?" he asked, voice low.

"Over two hundred years, kid," John muttered, locking eyes with Jim. The pistol left John's skin, and Jim sat back, releasing him, a stunned breath bursting from his lungs.

"That's impossible," Jim bit out curtly.

"Kid, you just saw what I can do first hand." John sat up, rolling his shoulders. The new skin on his back stretched, tingling slightly. Jim peered at him unnervingly.

"You risked your life to take that hit for me," he said. John shrugged.

"I can't die, kid. You, on the other hand, can be snapped like a twig. If you're hellbent on coming with me, let's get a move on. Get this over with." John pushed to his feet, slinging his gun under his arm once more. He shucked the destroyed tac vest and dropped it on the corpse of the monster. Something clattered to the ground at Jim's feet. They both reached, but Jim got there first, snatching up a beaded chain.

"Grimm, John H. 'O+' RRTS-M, 'no preference'," Jim read, eyes straining in the dim light. He turned the dog tags over in his hand. " 'Reaper'." He lifted his gaze, meeting John's quizzically. John felt his throat tighten.

"My name, blood type. Rapid Response Tactical Squad. Gas mask size medium. No religious affiliation," John recited, uncomfortable memories flooding his consciousness. "My squadron nickname." John held out his hand for his tags. Jim gripped them in a white-knuckled fist, an odd look on his face. A slight shake of his head, and the tags slid over his head, disappearing under his blood-soaked shirt.

"I thought John Grimm was dead," he said, voice casual as he brushed past John, continuing down the hall. John stood rooted to the ground, shock pervading his system. Nobody had ever reacted to his immortality that way. Nobody. Nobody was that quick on the uptake, or that nonchalant about meeting an immortal. This kid...


	2. Chapter 2

John trotted after him, gun shifting in the crook of his arm as he moved. They moved swiftly and silently through the halls towards the dig site proper. The last bulkhead cleared, and John crouched, cocking the weapon as Jim hastily short circuited the door to force it open. It slid open with a rusty shriek, and John swung his sights into the dig arena.

"Holy mother of god," Jim breathed above him. The blast of heat nearly knocked both of them off their feet. John straightened, gun slack in his hands. He took a step out onto the catwalk hanging over the dig, one hand moving to grip the railing. "Bones," Jim cried sharply, hand closing over his wrist. John looked at the railing. It was steaming slightly, not quite glowing but hot enough to scald.

John stared down into what used to be the dig site, and felt like he was staring into Hell. A massive, yawning cavern spit heat and horrid stench into the arena. Under his feet, he could see mutated creatures crawling up the sides of the gaping hole in the ground, clambering towards the edge, towards-

"An inter-dimensional rip," Jim said, leaning close to be heard over the bellowing heat sifting up, burning their skin. "See how the edges of the pit flicker? That's not heat diffraction. It's quantum instability."

"Good god, man," John breathed. "It's a doorway to Hell." Jim's fingers wound tight around John's bicep.

"It's another universe," Jim maintained. "Come on, we have to- _shit_!" His sentence choked off and he lurched, sliding between the bars of the catwalk. John lunged for his arm, grabbing fiercely. Jim's fingers scrabbled over his arms, trying to find purchase.

"I've gotcha, I've gotcha," John grunted, heaving at Jim's arm. Jim kicked, one of his legs trapped under the tearing claw of a mutant. Jim grunted, panting harshly as he beat at the thing's head with his free leg, trying to break it's hold.

" _Fuck_!" Jim choked out, agony clear in his voice. He kicked once more, the strike driving home, splitting the creature's forehead. It released him and John hauled him onto the catwalk. He took Jim's arm over his shoulder, wrapping his free arm around the kid's waist. He half-carried, half-dragged Jim from the oppressive heat of the dig arena, Jim's hands digging bruises into his skin. "Enterprise, two to beam up!" Jim gasped into a communicator as they staggered back to the Ark.

John spared a glance behind him and saw what could only be described as the legions of hell following them. Creatures of all shape and size barrelled through the halls after them, climbing the walls and scuttling over the ceiling as they poured into the base proper. John hitched Jim's hips up higher, propelling him along faster. "Come on kid," he urged, concentrating on not tripping over Jim's dangling legs.

"Coming," Jim hissed back waspishly. He twisted in John's hold, firing off shot after shot behind them, trying to at least deter the hordes thundering after them. John threw Jim into the Ark room and unholstered both of his beloved shotguns. "Bones!"

"Get to the pad, I'll hold them off!" John barked, deja vu washing over him when he caught Jim's intensely blue gaze and dusty blonde hair, leg covered in blood as he sat up on his elbows. Anger flared in Jim's eyes.

"You're crazier than I took you for if you think I'd leave you here," Jim forced out between clenched teeth. He pushed himself up and grabbed John around the throat, dragging him into the room and up onto the transporter pad. " _Now, Scotty_!" Jim shrieked into the communicator. John put himself between Jim and the piles of creatures struggling through the door, keeping a steady stream of bullets even as the warm brush of the beam washed over his heat-sensitive skin.

White, blinding light pierced his vision and he winced, squinting through it, shotguns still up and trigger finger ready to twitch at the slightest threat. Arms went around his chest, strong, firm, unyielding. "Okay, Bones, okay. Guns down. You're safe. Okay."

The atmosphere here was different. Nothing threatening. Nothing trying to kill him. Relief drove him to his knees, and the pent up adrenaline crash drove him forward, emptying the contents of his stomach on the transporter pad. A hand found his hair, and somewhere over him a voice was speaking.

"-can't strike it- would cause the rip to widen- dangerous-"

John sat back, wiping his mouth, panting. Spock stood before them, hands clasped behind his back as he listened to Jim speak.

"Sir, as much as I would encourage a course of action, I feel I must insist you see Doctor M'Benga in Medical. You are bleeding profusely from your left leg," Spock cut Jim off. John glanced at Jim, and in the bright lights of the ship, he could see the kid's face was grey with blood loss.

"Come on, kid," John muttered roughly, standing. He drew Jim up, and when Jim found he couldn't stand under his own power, John scooped him up. Jim went limp. "Which way is Medical?"

"I will escort you, sir," Spock said tightly, his lips pressed in a firm line.

The ship was gorgeous, no denying it. As much as John despised space ships, this one was build solid and huge. He didn't even feel like he was in space as he hurried to follow Spock through vast corridors of brightly painted walls and Starfleet officers who stopped to salute the unconscious man in John's arms and their Acting Captain. Jim was yanked away from him by the team of nurses and hustled into an OR. John stared after them, looking for the man who would be operating. He spotted the man called M'Benga, and grasped his arm as he donned his scrubs.

"He's got several deep lacerations that cut into muscles. He probably has splinters of bone cutting through blood vessels, make sure you get them all out or he'll get off your table to have a heart attack in a week," John said in one breath. M'Benga stared at him.

"Are you a doctor?" he asked stupidly.

"Damn right I am," John growled. "I'm Leonard McCoy." M'Benga's eyes went wide.

"Chapel! Get him some scrubs, now!" M'Benga barked. A pretty blonde thing tossed clothing at John without a backwards glance. Spock's eyebrow hit his hairline. "Don't you know who this is?" M'Benga asked, seeing the Acting Captain's expression. "This is the best damn surgeon this side of the Andromeda Galaxy." John slid into the scrubs with a scowl.

"Wasting time, doctor," he snarled. M'Benga shut up and followed him into the OR.

Several agonised hours later, John exited the room, stripping off bloody gloves to deposit them in the incinerator. He must have been tired. He didn't even hear Spock come up behind him. A hand clamped over his windpipe and he was slammed against a wall with a choked gasp. The tip of a phaser pressed to his chest, right where his heart pounded.

"Who are you?" Spock asked coolly. "How did you know so much about the Olduvai base? What business do you have with the Captain?"

"I was just tryin' to save your collective asses," John grunted past the pressure on his throat. "You can thank me later." Spock tightened his grip fractionally. John choked.

"I am placing you under arrest for conspiracy against the Federation, and the endangerment of a Starfleet officer," Spock said. Air exploded from John's lungs in shock.

"Endangerment!? I just saved that kid's life!" he bellowed, slapping Spock's hand away. Surprise flitted over the Vulcan's face, obviously unused to a human stronger than he.

"Stand down, Spock," Jim grunted from his recovery bed. John jerked his eyes to the kid. His eyes were open but completely unfocused. He was barely conscious. John shoved Spock aside and walked to Jim's bed.

"You shouldn't be awake," John muttered, slightly impressed the kid had clawed his way back to consciousness through the drugs he had pumped into his bloodstream.

"Missed you," Jim slurred with a trace of the smirk John had become familiar with.

"Whatever, kid," John said with an amused grin. He pressed his hand to Jim's hair and Jim passed out again, succumbing to the drugs. Spock cleared his throat.

"May I offer you a change of clothing, Doctor?" he said, voice strained with the effort of being polite. John nodded. The dried blood on his back felt like a second skin, and his shirt was nothing more than some tattered strips at the moment. Spock turned, and John followed him out of the Infirmary.

An hour later, fed, showered, and changed, John returned to Jim's bedside to wait. He must have fallen asleep, because the next thing he was aware of, Jim's hand had fallen on his knee, squeezing gently. "Oh good, you're awake," John drawled. "How do you feel?"

"Lazy," Jim responded honestly.

"Aches?"

"No. This is some good shit, Bones. You'll have to hook me up with it sometime," Jim murmured.

"You _are_ hooked up on it, kid," John said with a slight chuckle. Jim made a face, shaking his head slightly. John kept one eye on the monitors over Jim's bed as the kid fell still once more, breathing evenly.

"So immortals do sleep, then."

John jerked, snorting as he snapped awake, body tight with the need to fightdefendegetout-

"Relax, Bones. We're on the Enterprise, remember?" Jim's voice drifted through his mind-numbing instincts, and he let out a slow breath. He was on a spaceship. Not helpful. He was in the Medical Bay. Better. He had a patient to attend to. Better still.

He stood, forcing his breathing to even as he tugged the monitor over Jim's bed to him. "You lucid yet, sleeping beauty?" he drawled. Jim groaned.

"Enough to remember most of what happened. Where's Spock? I have to tell him to hold off on the attack-"

"You already did," John said, pushing Jim back down on the bed as he tried to sit up. "While you were delirious on the transporter pad. He hasn't launched any strikes while you've been unconscious. How many fingers?"

"Six," Jim replied petulantly. John cocked an eyebrow, one hand up. Jim scowled. "Two. Can you sign my release? I have to get on the holo with Admiral Pike. This is too big for me."

"As long as you're sitting," John said. "I sewed your leg back together, and I won't have you undoing it. I spent a good three hours picking out the bone fragments from your leg."

"Leonard McCoy," Jim said slow, recognition dawning. The sight of the blue scrubs may have helped jolt his memory. "Trauma surgeon. You wrote 'The Effects of Controlled Hypothermia on the Nervous System'." John rolled his eyes.

"Parts One, Two, and Three," he finished for the kid. "Don't tell me you actually read those."

"I, uh, had a lot of free time on my hands," Jim said, shifting uncomfortably. John didn't press. Jim sat up, wincing as he tugged his newly healed leg. "I want you."

John took a startled step backwards. "Excuse me?"

"I want you. On my ship," Jim said firmly. "My ship has the best, and you're the best. Enlist with me."

"You're kidding, right?" John managed through his shock. "You want me to zip around the universe in a flying tin can to what, get shot at _again_? Were the ranks of hell not enough for you? Kid, I served my time. I'm a surgeon now. I spend my days patching people up, not tearing 'em to shreds with sonics."

Jim had that look in his eyes, the one John hadn't quite figured out. "Fine," he finally said, an odd tilt to his voice. "But at least stay with me and advise on this mission. You obviously know more than anyone about Oduvai."

"I don't know anything about dimensional rips. I'm a doctor, dammit, not a theoretical physicist," John ground out. Jim pushed aside the blankets and moved to set his feet on the floor. "Oh no you don't," John growled, sliding an arm around Jim's waist as he tried to stand. "I oughta sedate you again."

"Just help me to my conference room," Jim grunted. Locked tight against his body, John could feel his muscles strung taut with pain. He sighed in exasperation and followed Jim's directions to one of the conference rooms on that deck. John eased him into a chair and stood behind it as Spock and the Asian officer entered the room. Spock completely ignored John, keying in the holo number for whoever they were going to be talking to. The Asian made straight for John, hand outstretched.

"Thank you," he murmured, gripping John's hand fiercely. John stared at him as he bowed slightly and took a seat at the table. John ignored the slight quirk of Jim's lips, amusement clear on his face. The holo wall flickered, lighting up with the image of several old men sitting around a table.

"Pike," Jim said by way of greeting. If the Admiral was irritated by the casual introduction, he didn't show it.

"Report, Kirk," the man said, a mirror of Jim's smirk lifting the corner of his mouth.

"Sir, there's a dimensional rip underneath the facility," Jim said without preamble. "The facility is completely overrun with creatures from this dimension who are, to put it mildly, unfriendly. There's no way to get the information you wanted, and no way to destroy the facility at this time."

"And who is that?" Pike's eyes found John. John opened his mouth, but Jim cut him off.

"Doctor Leonard McCoy, trauma surgeon and the world's leading expert on Olduvai. He's spent his life researching all the information on the subject, and when he heard Starfleet was opening a mission, he decided to preempt us," Jim said smoothly. "He's currently under the protection of the Enterprise until we can set his ass home."

"Interesting choice of hobbies, _doctor_ ," Pike said, leaning back in his chair, hand to his lips. John grunted concomitantly.

"Were you able to recover anything from the scouting mission, Kirk?" one of the other admirals interjected.

"No sir. There was no time. We barely got out with our lives, thanks to Doctor McCoy," Jim said.

"Unacceptable, captain. We believe that information is necessary to solving the population crisis on Zeta Xhou."

"Sir, what part of 'cross-dimensional rip' did you not hear?" Jim asked tightly. "I'm not sending my crew back into that base."

"That rip must be closed, and the base purged to enable the collection of that data," the admiral persisted. John shifted uneasily, feeling the heat of Pike's stare, as if he knew something.

"Would you like to come and head planetside yourself, sir?" Jim asked. The admiral narrowed his eyes.

"Are you refusing a direct order from your commanding officer, captain?"

John felt cold, every muscle locking tight in his body as the world narrowed to the voice on the screen. _No, no, no, no-_

A crack exploded through the room, and only when the stinging in his palm reached his brain did John realise the noise had come from him. He had planted his body firmly between the admirals' holo and the kid, shaking. The room seemed to vibrate with the echo of his hand slamming down on the table, making the holo shiver.

"With all due respect, _sirs_ ," John growled, low in his voice. "It's a suicide mission. There's nothing on that base worth the lives of your men."

"I will be the judge of that, _doctor_ ," the admiral said, his voice low and dangerous. "We appreciate the assistance you've given Starfleet, but may I remind you that you are a civilian under the protection of the Federation?"

"Fuck you and your fucking Federation," John bit out, jerking a finger at the holo. "You're sending good men and women to die for absolutely no reason. Believe me, there is nothing down there worth anything." A light touch at his hips cut off his rant.

"Bones," Jim murmured, pressing lightly against John's body. John stepped back into place, still seething but quiet now.

"Make it happen, Kirk," Pike said, his voice solemn. "Just remember, 'no win scenario'." And the screen went black.


	3. Chapter 3

"Spock, Sulu, you're dismissed," Jim said the instant the transmission cut. The other two officers stood, Spock tight-lipped and Sulu white-faced. They left the conference room silently, shutting the door behind them.

John whirled on Jim. "What is wrong with you! You saw what was down there! You're going to send your men and women-"

Jim cut him off, surging from the chair to grasp the front of John's shirt and slam their lips together. John hissed, surprised, and staggered under Jim's weight. His back slammed against the table, Jim's body crushing the air from his lungs at the impact. He tore his mouth away with a harsh gasp, fingers pressing hard into Jim's chest. "Jim, what-"

"Shut up," Jim growled. "Just shut up and fuck me, jesus." Something primal reared in John's mind at Jim's breathless tone. He grasped Jim's hips and hauled him up, rolling them both onto the table. The controls for the holovid scattered with a plastic-y clatter as John wrestled with the gold of Jim's shirt, tugging it over his head to reach smooth, pale skin beneath. Jim tore John's shirt off, grabbing the neck and pulling till John bent, freeing his arms and head for an instant before Jim gripped his face and drew him in for a fierce kiss, all teeth and sloppy tongue.

"You're a trauma surgeon, you stand up to four-star admirals, you can lock and load Google-era weapons, you're immortal," Jim panted against his mouth, "Is there anything you can't do?"

"Keep you in a hospital bed, apparently," John groaned, digging his hips into Jim's.

"You could keep me in bed," Jim said breathlessly, "if that's an invitation."

"You're out of your mind, kid," John growled, nipping Jim's throat. "Do you say that to all the guys?"

"Almost," Jim admitted, arching when John wriggled his hand under the waistline of his trousers. "Fuck, Bones."

"Not dry on a conference room table," John disagreed. "You may be hot, but I still have my principles." Jim whimpered in disappointment, but the sound quickly choked off when John wrapped his hand around Jim's erection. John bumped Jim hard with his hips, and a flash of metal slithered out from Jim's collar. John's tags clattered to the table with another unconscious jerk as Jim tried to buck into John's fist. Jim's eyes were blown wide, face flushed, and John's tags hung from his throat, like a mark of ownership. John's vision whited out briefly as he came, a surprised gasp torn from his lungs. "Jesus, kid," he drawled, holding himself up on shaking arms.

"Close but not quite," Jim quipped, rolling his hips into John's limp hold, trying to bring himself to completion. John forced his grip to remain firm. Jim's arms tightened, bringing John down over him as he came, warmth dashing out over John's hand. John let himself fall onto his side, still curled slightly around Jim, who panted as they stared at each other. "You are so weird," he finally said. John blinked at him, unsure what to say. "With your whole, southern gentleman thing... I didn't think you'd actually... you know."

"Didn't think I'd actually _what_?" John said, pushing himself upright.

"Screw someone you don't know," Jim filled in without taking a breath. "You're hard to peg."

"If that's your idea of a pun, I will be forced to slap you." John grimaced. He let his legs dangle over the edge of the table, scrubs shifting against plastic to fill the awkward silence. He jumped slightly when he felt Jim's fingers touch the small of his back in an almost-intimate manner. "I'll do it," he said finally, forcing the words past a thick tongue.

"No," Jim breathed. "You're a civilian, I can't ask you to do that."

"Kid, just because I'm not enlisted right now doesn't mean I'm a civilian. You don't stand a chance down there."

"You don't either," Jim persisted, voice barely a whisper.

"I can't die, kid, that's a step up from ya'll," John said, exhaling sharply. "But I don't know how to fix a dimensional rip. Tell me what to do and I'll do it."

"Spock can tell you," Jim said, sitting up and grabbing his shirt. The tags disappeared under the collar of his black undershirt once more before he pulled the command gold over his head. John could almost hear them tap against flesh as Jim stood from the table, shakily. "Come on. We'll go to the bridge."

And that was how John found himself once more, standing on the transporter pad, swallowing back his stomach. He knew damn well he couldn't die, but he sure as hell could feel pain, could feel the sickening lurch of air rushing back into his lungs after being still, the snap of nerve-endings as they returned to working order.

It was not fun.

And he had never felt the regeneration of a limb being torn off, which he was pretty sure was going to happen the instant he set foot in Olduvai. Jim stared at him, from his safe place just beyond the transporter beam. "Don't come after me," John said, voice hoarse. Jim didn't move, holding his gaze fiercely. "Jim," John practically pleaded. Jim just gave a slight shake of his head, more of a twitch than a flat refusal, but it didn't alleviate John's dread.

"Right, here we go now," the man named Scotty said with a few flicks of the control board in front of him. The transporter whirled menacingly, and nothing happened.

"Scotty?" Jim asked, eyes still firm on John.

"Sorry, cap'n. Just give me a moment here," the Scotsman said, yanking down a panel beneath the control panel. He detached a few wires and stripped them, twisting them together as sparks flickered. "All right. Once more now." He jabbed a button and the damn thing whirred once more. John wasn't sure what he feared more; the transporter or the hordes of monsters waiting for him on the other side.

The Enterprise faded.

The Ark pad was surprisingly silent when his vision cleared. Nothing moved. He stepped down from the pad, his rifle firm in his hands, eyes through the sights. Frequencies, Spock had said. It was all about frequencies. He had to place sonic generators at precise coordinates around the edge of the rip so that the exact frequencies would 'shake' the 'fabric of space-time' and effective make the rip disappear.

It sounded like a load of bullshit, but Vulcans weren't the top of every class for nothing. As long as he didn't fall in, he should be all right. Should be.

The halls of the science wing were appallingly silent. The further he moved into the facility, the harder his heart pounded. Something wasn't right. Where had they all gone?

He forced himself to breathe evenly when spots started blinking in and out of his vision. _Get hold of yourself, dumbass_ , he sternly reminded himself. _You've got a job to do, soldier._ He wasn't some civilian picked up by the military. This was his fucking job. Keep people safe. Keep them from dying. Even if it meant consciously walking right into his nightmares, he had a fucking job to do, and he sure as hell was gonna do it.

He crept slowly towards the dig site, warmth already filtering through the corridors from the rip. He was tempted to strip off unnecessary layers, but knew that the risk of burning was too great. He eased his way into the dig arena, gun held at the ready.

It was empty.

The great, cavernous hole gaped up at him, still belching incredible heat, but the legions of monsters that had poured after he and Jim were gone, nowhere to be seen. John carefully lowered his gun, shaking slightly. The pent-up adrenaline was making him paranoid. He had to take advantage of the lull while he had it.

He slipped and slid down the stairs of the catwalk leading to the dig itself, feeling the sonic generators bounce in the bag at his back. The heat was suffocating as he approached the hole, drawing out a GPS for the coordinates he needed. The heat-resistant gloves he wore made it hard to activate the damn thing, but he got it up with a soft beep, and placed the first generator in position, activating it. The air around the generator trembled, flickering. Maybe the pointy-eared bastard had been on to something.

John crept around the edge of the rip carefully, avoiding loose rocks crumbling around the rim. The second generator went down without a hitch; it was when he looked up that he ran into trouble.

A claw caught his jaw, sending him violently into the wall. He staggered, legs scrambling for purchase, to stop himself from sliding into the hole. He dragged a handgun from its holster putting four shots into the monster. The momentum knocked it back into the pit, and it screamed as it went down. John watched it, breathing hard through his nose.

"So much for a quiet mission," he muttered to himself as he saw movement deep in the rip. They were coming.

He wiped blood from his face, jabbing the GPS for the coordinates of the next generator. He still had two more to place before he could even think about getting out. The first monsters were scrabbling out of the pit as he slipped and slid his way to the next position. He had enough time to set the generator before they were on him.

They caught on quickly that he _really_ did not want to be dragged into the hole, and they grabbed at him with rotting, melting hands, trying to pull him with them. The smell alone was enough to choke him, even as he fitted a pistol in both hands and fired, trying to drive them away to give him enough time to set the last generator.

He activated the last generator, hoping that if he'd be able to just drop it into place and run. A claw tore through the back of his thigh and he went down, rolling away from the hole, pressing up against the wall as he unloaded practically a full clip into the creature poised to rip his head off. It fell backwards with a dying shriek. John kicked out with his good leg, forcing himself forward towards the last coordinates. He slapped the generator down, and the effect was almost instantaneous.

The noise of heat roaring up from the hole vanished, as if someone had flicked a switch. Blood-curdling screams rocked the arena from monsters, trapped, half their bodies in this dimension, the other half torn away when the rip closed. It didn't stop them from coming, and John couldn't get up in time. He kicked out, trying to fend off the oncoming creatures from his prone position, but even he knew he was screwed. There were just too many of them still, even with the rip closed.

One creature landed on him, straddling his torso, arm drawn back. A flash of panic bolted through John's head. He didn't know if he could regenerate after a decapitation-

The creature was blasted off him in a flurry of heat and gurgling screams. A path parted through the mass of hellish creatures around him, and John flopped on the ground to see Jim leading a squad of heavily suited men towards him, solid weapons raised, spitting bullets into the monsters left in the arena.

Jim dropped to his knees and hauled John upright, face a fierce look of determination behind the helmet as he dragged John along with them in a hasty retreat.

John let himself be led, relief at the unforeseen rescue making him weak. The officers kept him close between them, flanking him to protect him until they reached the Ark. "Five to beam up, Scotty," Jim barked into his communicator. John felt the responding tingle of dematerialisation.

The instant the Enterprise swam into view, Jim was tearing off his helmet, grabbing John by the front of his wrecked shirt, and yanking him in for a rough kiss. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," the kid murmured frantically against his lips, " _Fuck_ , I'm sorry."

John didn't get a chance to ask what he was sorry for. M'Benga cleared his throat and stepped up on the pad, tricorder whirring. Jim buried his face in the crook of John's throat, shuddering through his breathing.

"You appear to be the picture of health, Doctor, despite the enormous amounts of blood on your uniform," M'Benga said wryly. "You'll have to let me in on your secret some day."

"I'd rather not," John said, voice rough. He wrapped one arm around Jim's shoulders, worried as he felt the captain shake against him. Around him, the rescue team were removing their helmets and revealing their identities.

Spock peered solemnly at John from over the thick collar of his suit. "Well done, Doctor," he said in monotone.

"Thanks for the save," John grunted, hand tightening around Jim's shoulder.

"It was most opportune," Spock agreed hesitantly, with a slight upturn of his eyebrow. Sulu stepped down off his receiving pad with a breathless grin.

"What are you, special ops?" he asked, unable to keep the excitement off his face. "I've never seen moves like that."

"They're called 'oh shit I'm gonna die'," John drawled sarcastically. "Uh, can I get cleaned up before the mission debriefing?" Jim's fingers twisted painfully in the front of his tac vest.

"Come with me," he said. John didn't protest. Neither did the rest of the crew. They barely made it inside Jim's quarters when the kid jumped him, locking their mouths together as Jim forced him backwards into the small, regulation bathroom. Jim efficiently stripped him of his clothing, trapping him in the shower, all flesh and hard muscle and burning skin. Somehow the water was turned on. John was pinned to the side of the shower, water sluicing over his body, washing away the grime and blood of freshly healed wounds. He ran his hands over Jim's water-slick body, holding him firm as Jim did his damnedest to draw the breath from his lungs.

"Jim," John murmured.

"Let me-" Jim choked himself off, trying to gather himself. "Oh god, Bones," he breathed, hot breath ghosting over John's chest as he bit and nipped his way along John's collarbone. "I could hear everything. I could hear the screaming." His fingers tangled painfully in John's hair, pulling him down to capture his lips again. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry-" Jim gasped. "I sent you down there-"

"Relax kid," John grumbled into Jim's mouth. "I went down there of my choice."

"You wouldn't have gone if I hadn't thrown you down," Jim hissed, holding John close. "I messed with your head, got you all confused." John grabbed his arms, jerking him away. Jim stared at him miserably.

"Is that why you came at me in the conference room?" John asked, feeling cold suddenly despite the warm water coursing over his skin. Jim shook water out of his eyes, blinking furiously. "Jim," he started in exasperation. "I would have gone anyway. You didn't have to... _manipulate_ me."

Jim's eyes narrowed. "Why?" he asked earnestly. "You don't owe us anything. I saw how shaken you were when we beamed back. That place has to have memories for you. You're a civilian."

"I used to be a soldier, kid," John said, tugging a hand through Jim's hair. "I'm used to ignoring what's best for me and throwing myself into stupid situations. I was the only one who could do it, Jim. I know that." He pressed his lips together in a frown. "Are you trying to get me to do something right now?" Jim shook his head. "You were right about the southern gentleman thing, kid. I don't like screwing someone if it doesn't have any meaning."

"I can't believe you're real," Jim murmured, his hands finding John's skin once more. "I hacked into government files, found the mission report."

"The mission report was edited," John growled.

"I know. But the story in there was bad enough," Jim said firmly. "For you to go back down there... after all that... I am such an asshole."

"Yea, you are," John agreed without hesitation. Jim stared at him mournfully, his fingers tight on John's arms. "Look, kid, I like you, and I'm more than happy to tussle with ya even just as friends, but I won't be manipulated. I would have gone down there anyway. Hell, I have to go back to get that information your Admiral Pike wants."

Jim shook his head. "While you were distracting the creatures at the rip, we got the data. We can blow Olduvai off the map now. Seal the damned place away forever." He leaned in, touching his forehead to John's. John fought the urge to push him back, get his space back. "I'll let you do it, pull the trigger. Maybe it'll help you put those memories to rest."

"All right," John said. "As long as it won't open up the rip again."

"It won't. Spock says it's closed permanently now. It's all right."

John found himself pulling Jim into his arms, tucking his chin into Jim's shoulder. He suddenly felt weak, as if the shower wall was the only thing keeping him upright. He hadn't realised that he had been carrying this tension around with him until Jim had offered a way out. The final destruction of Olduvai, what he had been petitioning the government for decades, was at his fingertips. It would finally be over.

Maybe he'd be able to sleep again.

"You throwing me a bone, here, kid?" he was forced to ask.

"No, Bones," Jim said, solemn-faced as he drew out of John's embrace. "Even if the admirals want the facility, I'm destroying it. It's past time."

The next day, John stood on the bridge, dressed in borrowed science blues (Spock's). Jim stood behind him, face firm as John reached for the button Sulu had prepared for him. Before their eyes, a small light flashed on the surface of Earth's neighbour.

That was it.


End file.
